The day a 'Calavera' opened my eyes on channel 50

I'm not gonna lie to you, when my dad, right on Father's Day, put on channel 50 and "El Gran Calavera" (The Great Madcap/Skullcap/Spendthrift) appeared, my first thought about those films was the usual: "Ugh, another one of those old movies that only he likes." I'm more into new stuff, or well, I thought I was... But something happened that day. Maybe it was the family atmosphere, the after-dinner chat, or simply that cinematic destiny had other plans for me. Because that movie, folks, it hit me differently.

First, I started laughing. And not just any laugh, the kind a cheap joke gets out of you, nooo!! It was a knowing, intelligent laugh. The story of Ramiro de la Mata (Fernando Soler, what a legend!), that millionaire patriarch and playboy whom his family decides to teach a lesson by making him believe he's ruined, is a delightful tangle. The relatives, a bunch of freeloaders living off the "Calavera," turn out to be bigger "calaveras" (spendthrifts/scoundrels) than Ramiro himself. Watching them try to adapt to a life of poverty, with their clumsiness and comedic desperation, is pure gold. That's when you realize that comedy, when it's well-made, well-crafted, and well-seasoned, doesn't need special effects or convoluted dialogues to work (mind you, I'm not invalidating what's already been done with good dialogues or special effects); it needs truth, relatable situations taken to the extreme, and characters you can somehow identify with, or at least, pity with a smile.

But this is where things get meatier, and it's what blew my mind. Behind the hilarious situations, the sharp dialogues, and the memorable performances (hello, Rubén Rojo and Andrés Soler, what acting geniuses!), there's a message that hits you deep. Buñuel, because yes, we have to name the master behind this work, Don Luis Buñuel, wasn't one to do things without a purpose. This powerhouse, this master of cinema, used comedy like a razor-sharp scalpel to dissect the hypocrisy of the bourgeoisie, laziness disguised as supposed good manners, and the fragility of a system based on appearances.

What starts as a plan to cure the "Calavera" of his excessive spending turns into a lesson for everyone. The family, forced to work for the first time in their lives, discovers not only the value of money earned through hard work but also their own hidden abilities, their dormant talents. And Ramiro himself, the supposed "sick" one, turns out to be the sanest of them all, adapting with a slyness and resilience that's striking. The film tells you, without preaching but with crystal clarity, that work dignifies, that adversity can be the best teacher, and that sometimes, losing everything is the only way to find yourself and what truly matters. It's a slap in the face with a velvet glove to idleness and an ode to human ingenuity when put to the test.

And seriously, old movies were made of different stuff. You could feel the ingenuity blossoming, creativity on full display, to tell stories with resources that would seem limited to us today. They didn't need CGI to create worlds; a good script, committed actors, and a director with a clear vision were enough. Buñuel was a celebrated master at that. I know he has masterpieces, films studied in every film school in the world – "Viridiana," "Los Olvidados" (The Young and the Damned), "El Ángel Exterminador" (The Exterminating Angel) – but that Father's Day, on the humble signal of channel 50, on my dad's TV, I got to discover this perhaps less flashy but equally brilliant gem.

"El Gran Calavera" isn't just a comedy; it's an incredibly intelligent social mirror, a scathing critique wrapped in festive gift paper. It's proof that you can make people laugh while making them think, and that an old movie can feel fresher and more relevant than many of today's releases.

So yes, "El Gran Calavera" has snuck onto my list of "new old favorites." And if this article encourages someone else to dust off these treasures, to give a chance to that cinema our parents or grandparents watched with such devotion. Because sometimes, the best surprises aren't on the brightest marquee, but in an unexpected corner of the house, waiting for a new pair of eyes to rediscover them. Thanks, Dad, for that unexpected and eye-opening afternoon of cinema! And thank you, Buñuel, wherever you are, for being so damn good.